hold of his very candle, and there, by way of moral, is his ale-pot,
which looks and winks in his face, and seems to say, O Bull, all this is
froth, and a cruel satirical picture of a certain rustic who had a
goose that laid certain golden eggs, which goose the rustic slew in
expectation of finding all the eggs at once. This is goose and sage too,
to borrow the pun of "learned Doctor Gill;" but we shrewdly suspect that
Mr. Cruikshank is becoming a little conservative in his notions.

We love these pictures so that it is hard to part us, and we still
fondly endeavor to hold on, but this wild word, farewell, must be spoken
by the best friends at last, and so good-by, brave woodcuts: we feel
quite a sadness in coming to the last of our collection.

In the earlier numbers of the Comic Almanac all the manners and customs
of Londoners that would afford food for fun were noted down; and if
during the last two years the mysterious personage who, under the title
of "Rigdum Funnidos," compiles this ephemeris, has been compelled to
resort to romantic tales, we must suppose that he did so because the
great metropolis was exhausted, and it was necessary to discover new
worlds in the cloud-land of fancy. The character of Mr. Stubbs, who
made his appearance in the Almanac for 1839, had, we think, great merit,
although his adventures were somewhat of too tragical a description to
provoke pure laughter.

We should be glad to devote a few pages to the "Illustrations of Time,"
the "Scraps and Sketches," and the "Illustrations of Phrenology," which
are among the most famous of our artist's publications; but it is very
difficult to find new terms of praise, as find them one must, when
reviewing Mr. Cruikshank's publications, and more difficult still (as
the reader of this notice will no doubt have perceived for himself long
since) to translate his design into words, and go to the printer's box
for a description of all that fun and humor which the artist can
produce by a few skilful turns of his needle. A famous article upon the
"Illustrations of Time" appeared some dozen years since in Blackwood's
Magazine, of which the conductors have always been great admirers of our
artist, as became men of honor and genius. To these grand qualities
do not let it be supposed that we are laying claim, but, thank heaven,
Cruikshank's humor is so good and benevolent that any man must love it,
and on this score we may speak as well as another.

Then ther